


Death is a Minor Detail

by g1oriouswriter



Category: cody - Fandom, triistan
Genre: Best Friends, Cody - Freeform, Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, POV, POV First Person, Tristan - Freeform, teen, teenage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g1oriouswriter/pseuds/g1oriouswriter
Summary: Cody is your average teenage boy, except for one detail; his best friend died. Right in front of him. This story follows the struggles of Cody as he mourns the death of his best friend, and develops some serious mental health issues of his own.Upload: Every Sunday & Wednesday





	1. Prologue

Tristans POV

I can feel it. Gravity pulling me down, the wind resisting yet unable to slow my fall. The indescribable pressure against my chest. The fear. This is it.

I'd slipped. I can see the curb furthering away, as if it is running from me. When I look down I realize that the ground is growing, inching closer every second. It is reaching for me, grasping me.

They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, and well, it does. I see Cody. Cody. I'm sorry Cody. I just can't do this anymore. You are everything to me. The sun that lights up my world. The moon that keeps me sane at night. Cody, you are my best friend and my will to live. But I can't stay here. I don't belong.


	2. Chapter 2

Codys POV

It's all too hard. It's all too real. And frankly, I think it's stupid how the human race can do things like this, can hurt someone so badly, for their own sickening satisfaction. Oh right, it's called the media. I loathe humans. I detest people. I despise everyone.

Why Tristan? Why'd you have to stand so close to the edge. Why did you insist on seeing the city, on feeling alive?

Tristan is gone, and I need to accept that, but I can't. My best friend, my only friend, is dead, and I'm expected to get over that? Realistically, I'm supposed to cry, speak at a funeral, grieve for a year, and then get over it, as if Tristan had never existed. That's what we're all supposed to do. We're all programmed the same, we're all slaves to society's unspoken social laws. Well, not me. I won't fall for this cruel trick that society is playing on people. I am here for a reason, unlike doctor Farrow, or my mom, or anyone else.

My kids will never have heard of him, he never had kids to remember him, and his parents are basically dead of old age. Tristan needs to be remembered. I need to do something for him. I need to prove that he was real.

For now, I need to deal with these reporters. Flashing their stupid camera lights, trying to get the perfect shot of the grieving best friend. They stand outside my house, I haven't gone outside in a week, since Tristan slipped. Since he was alive.

This evening when I slumbered over to the dinner table, my mom handed me an envelope. I honestly thought nothing of it; it was probaly another dumb letter from a distant relative that I have't seen since I was six. It was a plain white envelope, with a coffee stain on the corner, probably the result of someone's careless movements while taking a sip of their perfectly roasted coffee. I was tempted to slip the letter in the trash, but as I flipped it over I noticed something bizarre; it had Tristan's name scribbled across it, but it wasn't his writing.

"Synthea, Tristan's mother, stopped by this morning," my mom said lightly. "She said that they'd found this draft document in the trash bin on his laptop." She could clearly see the pain that shot across my face when I read his name.

I suddenly felt this ache in my chest. I tried to open the envelope but my hands were shaking too much. I returned to my room and slid it into my underwear drawer. This was private, and I knew my mom would probably go snooping through my room to find it. She always wants to be 'in the loop', even if it involves breaking all of my personal boundaries.

What am I saying? She's my own mother. She only wants what's best for me. This is crazy, I can't seem to trust anyone. Everything was fine before all of this. I just wish that I could press rewind. I wish that I could be sitting here, with Tristan, laughing about how he almost fell. Who knows, maybe if he'd been two inches back, he would still be alive.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been two weeks since Tristan's... incident.

Last night after dinner I decided to sit down and watch the news with my mother. What's the worst that could happen? I know, she bombards me with questions and continues to prod at me and tell me to leave the house and get some fresh air. Fresh air? That's why we have windows.  
I change my mind at the last minute because I don't want to talk right now. I turn to go to my room, but she's already seen me. She pauses the TV. Uh oh, this is serious.

"Cody, sweets, why don't you join me?" She asks lightly, patting the space beside her on the couch.

"I'd rather not," I reply coldly. I honestly just want to be alone. But then again, that's all I ever seem to be nowadays.

"How about you sit down and we can watch a movie, one of those black and white films? I can pop some popcorn and it can be like our old movie nights. Remember those, with Tri- us." I cringe at the mention—or almost-mention—of his name.

I do want to be alone, but then I see the look of desperation behind my mom's weak smile. I know that she really is trying, so I slowly nod my head and slide down onto the couch beside her.

"There's five minutes left of the news, then we can pick out our movie, how does that sound?" She turns her head to look at me. I never noticed how much older she looks. It seems like she has aged 20 years in the last two weeks. I return my gaze to the TV and let out a small noise that sounds something like "sure".

I find the news quite interesting actually; the CBC was advertising some new vaccines that have proven successful to prevent a new illness—some trials that they did on poor monkeys.  
My mind wanders back to Tristan and how just a week ago, the news was advertising the loss of a local student.   
I changed my mind, I hate the news. I can't believe that people can move on so quickly. Just last week people were donating hundreds of dollars to Tristans 'go fund me' page. Now they're all on to the next big issue. This is too overwhelming for me. I shoot up to my feet and when I turn around I can see the look of confusion on my mother's face. I let out a small apology and slump to my room. I do feel for her, she is trying really hard, but I have to move at my own pace.

\---------------------------------------------

I am woken up by a banging on the front door. I check my clock, it's 11:43. I slowly make my way down to the door. I look through the peephole to find my mother standing outside. I can see the car still running behind her. I open the door and I'm about to question her when she interjects.

"Honey, you have an appointment with Dr. Farrow this afternoon, I told you this!" She exclaims. I remember now—she told me over dinner. That must be why she left the car running, because I'm late.

"Please hurry up, I have to get back to work!" She says quickly.

"Fine," I say as I grab my hoodie from the couch and follow her out the door, locking it behind me.

It is a twenty minute drive to Dr. Farrow's office. I would drive myself if I had my own car, but sadly it is only the one and my mom needs it for work.  
There is a silence looming over me and my mother in the car, and it's not a comfortable one. I decide to try and fill the quiet.

"What's Dr. Farrow's first name, anyway?" I ask. I don't really care what her name is, but I feel like I am suffocating from the silence.

"Clarentine-Haley," My mom replies. That is actually a very nice name.

"Cool," I respond. The awkwardness falls over us again. I stay silent for the rest of the ride. I allow my mind to wander back to the news headline last night. "New vaccine proven to prevent new illness!"   
It seems like the entire world has moved on from Tristan. Maybe I should too...


	4. Chapter 4

"I visited his grave this morning and all of the flowers were dead. The only one that stood tall was a pink gardenia from his mother," I tell Dr. Farrow as she continues to nod and jot down notes.

"It's funny," I continue, "because Tristan hated the colour pink. He said it was too happy, too bright."

"And what do you think? Of the colour pink, that is?" That catches me off guard. What a weird question.

"I was always fond of the colour," I say. "It seems so peaceful, like a cloud in the sky made of cotton candy." I stop talking and my face twists into a frown. Clouds made of cotton candy? What a childish thought. Besides, all cotton candy does is give you cavities.

By the end of the session I am tired and ready to go home. I am about to stand up when Dr. Farrow looks at me and says "I can see you're hurting, and of course you should be. In order to move on, you need to embrace that pain." I look away when she says that. I can't wait to get home.

I leave the office and head down to the parking lot where my mom is waiting for me. We drive over to our favourite ice cream shop - it has become our after therapy tradition. I walk into "Scoop To The Moon'' and order a dark chocolate ice cream. I like having ice cream because it means that I don't have to speak since my mouth is full. 

I slide into the passenger's seat of the car. Once we pull onto the highway I think back to Dr. Farrow's words, "you need to embrace the pain."   
It's clear that I'm the only one still caught up on this... this issue. My mom thinks that I should go back to school, and maybe that is a good idea. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Mom keeps on nagging me to go grocery shopping with her, but I don't think I'm ready to be in a confined space with hoards of screaming mothers with coupons. Instead I agree to visit the local mall, Royal North. Me and Tristan used to go to the film rental shop every Saturday in preparations for our movie nights. That store has since gone bankrupt, because of all the online streaming services. 

My mom and I are walking into Simons when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch some girls giggling in the underwear section. Why don't they see? Why are they smiling? People are dying every day and we just stand around pretending like nothing is happening. We act like we're never going to die.  
I can't wait until someone beloved to them drops dead. I can't wait to see the expressions on their faces when they realize that this is real life. Not some absurd movie or book, this is their life.

No. Cody, what are you doing? What are you saying? You don't want them to go through this unspeakable pain. They should live as every teenager should; oblivious of the world around them. Gossiping about their ideas of first world problems, like how Jessie and Lisa like the same boy, but he's into Carly. I just wish that they would wake up. That they would snap out of this trace that they've been in since birth. This trance that society has set on them.

Before long we are heading home, my mom is rambling on about some blue polo shirt that she got for me, but all I can think about is Tristan, more specifically, how much I don't want to be thinking of him. How in the hell am I supposed to stop thinking of—BOOM. I hear the car skid and my mother's scream... then everything goes dark.


End file.
